Swordplay
by JacksMermaid
Summary: Weapons, hot tempers, and fantasies indulged. JE, of course, as if I need to say that. WARNING: DMC spoilers, smut. UPDATE! This is now a prologue to my story, Curiosity!


Swordplay

_(I'm so damn evil. But y'all knew that. -- JM)_

* * *

Easy enough to seduce a strumpet, Jack smiled to himself – a coin, a trinket, a bit of high compliment and they sighed all over you. Provided, of course, you had their price. But seducing Elizabeth Swann took wit, intellectual banter and a slow, gentle chase. Since he wasn't really capable of any of these, he knew of one other way: pure animal desire packaged in teasing innuendo... with the added fillip of danger. Something she was ripe for, every time. See, for all her bluster and bravery, the high and mighty Miss Swann _wanted_ to be seduced, _wanted_ to feel slightly helpless as she was faced with someone stronger and nastier than herself (even though the wench always knew how to keep the upper hand and wasn't afraid of a damn thing). Stronger and nastier. Both qualities he naturally possessed. So, the question of it was the where and how to start? He glanced back at her from where she sat in the morning sun, the wind blowing her hair back. She was smiling up at Gibbs who was telling her – undoubtedly – some far-fetched take of seafaring. She glanced over at Jack and he winked, jerking his head in Gibbs' direction and making "blah-blah-blah" flapping motions with his hands.

Elizabeth suddenly snorted out laughter, and Gibbs smiled appreciatively, "I know! Can ye believe it, Miss Swann? The thought of a real mermaid?"

She tried to compose herself, "Indeed, Mr. Gibbs. Ridiculous." Another faint laugh worked its way up as she saw Jack out of the corner of her eye, making more silly gestures, and she quickly covered her mouth. "A wonderful story indeed, thank you."

Gibbs puffed his chest up a little, pleased at his success, then turned to watch Jack (who had mercifully stopped his clowning). "Look you, Jack's going to play."

Elizabeth spun, "Play?"

She watched as Jack's two newest crew members came towards the captain, swords in hand. "Oh no," she groaned, "_Tell_ me he isn't going to try and use a sword in any kind of useful fashion..."

Jack began to instruct the two younger men in what he thought to be proper swordplay. As the men circled each other, Jack barked out orders, "There now! When he's not paying attention, strike 'im! Good! Always get 'im when he's down!" _I may get my arse handed to me, but at least she's watching_, he grinned to himself.

His dark eyes were alight as he paced around the two fighters with his easy, cat-hipped grace. _A panther,_ she thought, watching as he stumbled and recovered elegantly, _or a wobbly, drunken kitten._ Now he ducked, now he lunged with them, now he laughed. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in ferocity and outrageous luck. He took a moment to glance over at her with his wicked, gold-tipped grin and she shivered. She'd never quite seen him like this, rum-swagger mostly gone, completely focused on the blades flashing before him. He picked up a sword and she watched him begin to spin, black mane flying, laughing joyously. Apparently having the time of his life. She became aware she was holding her breath in the same instant she realized how badly she always wanted to keep him close, in her life. This was decidedly not good.

He could feel her watching, just as he knew that _she_ knew he was showing off for her, fighting furiously, engaging in battle with his typical panache and a wicked flurry of blows that really had no effect on his opponents at all save to confuse them. He couldn't stop from grinning back at her, laughing as he fought. _Surprising,_ he thought. Not what he would have thought would captivate her so, this swordplay. He didn't entertain the notion that it was his sheer silliness, his near-youthful exuberance that had captured her.

She hadn't realized she'd been humming aloud until Gibbs looked over at her and smiled. "Enjoying yourself, miss?"

She smiled, "I wish I had time to learn more myself. Will only taught me so much."

I'll bet, thought Gibbs, uncharitably. "Well, I'm sure the Captain would be happy to, well... erm, perhaps not." He stopped himself, thinking better of it, and tried not to notice how the girl's face flushed. _Lord help her if she were truly falling for Daft Jack._ Except Gibbs knew that was already the case.

Jack was working with Johnny alone now, instructing the boy on how to block an incoming blow. More than half of it was nonsense, what with Jack's abysmal skill with a sword, but if any of it would even remotely help the boy to stay alive... "Good!" Jack yelled, when the boy gained a fair hit. He ruffled Johnny's hair affectionately, slapping him on the back. Johnny beamed, and Elizabeth was suddenly touched at how absurdly sweet the exchange had been. Johnny could have been Jack in 14-year-old miniature, with that dark hair and skin of his. Perhaps that was why Jack was so protective, perhaps the boy reminded Jack of his former self.

And then it was Liam's turn to fight. Liam was almost as gracefully boneless as Jack, certainly as quick and _definitely_ a far better swordsman. This could prove interesting. Liam went for Jack; Jack grunted and dodged, raising his own blade to block the thrust. Liam continued to advance on Jack, faster and faster as the Captain ducked and bobbed and ran backwards along the deck-boards more quickly than Elizabeth had ever seen anyone do. _Probably why he's lived so long,_ she thought, grinning. Suddenly, Liam drew his blade down and across and Jack yelped. Both fighters paused and watched as a red stain blossomed across the front of Jack's shirt. Elizabeth gasped and started forward, but Gibbs' hand grasped her arm, iron hard. The look in his eyes was grim and she stood still.

"Sorry, Cap'n," Liam was telling Jack, "Only a scratch," but a faint smirk played across his lips. He glanced back to see pretty Miss Swann watching and tipped his hat at her. Jack curled his lip and motioned the young man to take a fighting stance again.

"That young devil," Gibbs muttered, fingers clenching painfully on Elizabeth's arm until he realized what he was doing and hurriedly dropped his hand, apologizing. Elizabeth was no longer paying attention to him; all her attention was fastened on the fight before her.

Slowly, Liam stalked Jack, circling, waiting to strike. He lunged and Jack seemed to trip, eliciting another horrified gasp from Elizabeth. As he went down, Jack swept out his leg, knocking Liam off balance and onto his back. In a flash, Jack stood over the young man, blade at Liam's throat. "You may be faster, lad, and you're most definitely better with a blade. But I'm older, nastier and trickier." He lightly flicked his blade across Liam's shoulder. "Only a scratch," Jack told him, before turning on his heel and stalking back to his cabin.

Elizabeth stood transfixed a moment, then rushed after Jack, ignoring the warning Gibbs started to give. She knocked on the cabin door and heard a growl, "Bugger off." Elizabeth hesitated, and then opened the door to see Jack, stripped to the waist. "Oh," he said, seeing who it was, "S'you. Shouldn't be in here, darlin', I'm in a foul mood." He turned to fully face her and she gasped as she saw the blood trickling down his chest. "Jack!"

"Just a scratch, love, didn't you hear? M'more bloody angry than anything else."

She took a bottle of rum off of the table and walked over to him, holding it out. He took a swig, offered it back. She raised her eyebrow and took a drink, and then leaned close and poured it over the bleeding wound before he could protest. "Damn it, woman!" he roared, batting at her hand, "Warn a man!"

"You'd have yelled anyway," she told him, coolly. "Stand still and quit fussing." She took the scarf from around her neck and dabbed at the cut, trying to concentrate on it instead of the black eyes staring at her. Suddenly, Jack grabbed her hand, holding it captive. She tried to protest, "Ja..." and he laid a finger on her lips, stopping her. He slowly moved forward, taking the scarf from her hand and dropping it to the floor.

Slowly, so slowly, he threaded fingers into the back of her hair, "My blood's a bit hot at the moment, darlin'. Do you mind?" He leaned in and kissed her, fiercely. _Oh..._ She felt herself lean into him, shivering in delight at the feel of his mouth even as she heard warnings going off in her mind. _Bad idea, Elizabeth, VERY bad idea..._ She slid her hands up his chest, feeling him shudder in response. He suddenly flinched and pulled back, "Easy, love."

She looked down and saw faint traces of blood on her fingers; she'd brushed over the wound. Trying to gather her senses, she pulled away. "I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have..." He snatched her hand, pulling it to his lips and slowly licked her first finger clean. She shivered at the touch of his tongue and at the idea that he was drinking in his own blood.

"As I told you, love, I'm afraid I'm a bit too hot at the moment. All that swordplay and blood and such. I'm afraid I need you to keep me company." He was deadly serious, no drunken foppishness or silly gestures now. His blood was truly up from the fight, and his intent was plain. He wanted her, and he planned on having her. How far, well... he'd stop if she asked. But he planned on making sure she didn't want him to stop.

The warnings were absolutely screaming in her mind now as Elizabeth registered what his dark eyes were promising. "Jack, I... I only came to see if you were..." She hadn't finished the sentence before he had pulled her roughly to his chest and slammed his mouth down on hers again. Melting. Her bones were melting. No kiss she had ever received from Will had ever made her feel like this. She would have sworn the temperature in the cabin rose twenty degrees. And climbing, she thought faintly. His arms were around her, hands snaking up into her hair to move her head in the way which best pleased him, which enabled him to drink her in more deeply. _I think I may just faint,_ she thought, as her knees buckled slightly.

He felt her sway, breathlessly broke the kiss and before she could protest had swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and noted that her eyes were half-closed in desire, her breaths shallow. Oh yes. She was not ready to say no yet. How far could he take this? He knew what he wanted, needed, but whether she was ready to give it was another matter. In all the time he had been with her, had denied any of those pesky feelings for her, he had never been so ready to throw all caution to the winds for the sheer pleasure of fucking her senseless. He wanted to be in her, regardless of cost. He knew he was losing control even as he told himself he didn't care. Except... there was an odd little sensation nagging at him. Something that felt suspiciously like guilt. _Ignore it, mate, just ignore it..._

She didn't care what happened next. She _needed_ to know what happened next. She was so ready. And Jack was so willing to give her what she wanted, unlike Will's embarrassed fumblings and notions of propriety. Will had always pulled away when her kisses got too heated, when she had pressed herself to him. He had always pleaded the excuse of their unmarried status as reason to stop her passionate kisses. Jack, however, was a scoundrel, a dangerous man... and also a good man, who she suspected would never truly hurt her and who, if she asked, would stop what he was doing. And that thought alone made her feel safe in telling herself that there was no harm in going a little farther, in letting him kiss her dizzy again. And she ignored the little voice that told her if she let it go too far, he might not be as pleased to stop. She found herself looking up at him, knew the invitation in her eyes was unmistakable.

Oh, God. She wanted him to continue, was all but begging him to. It was Elizabeth. She was a virgin. He couldn't let her throw away her possibilities by being deflowered by a pirate. If there was still a chance she and Will would marry, he couldn't let her do it. Honestly, he didn't give a tinker's dam about William Turner, but this girl, this mad girl who lay before him? Oh yes. Cared too much. "Lizzie," he began, releasing her, "Deepest apologies, I shouldn't have done this." _Bugger, bugger, bugger… swallow it down, man._

_No._ He was stopping, he was trying to be noble even when she could see how much he wanted her. _Alright, then. It's up to me._ She sat up, deliberately ran her palm up his chest, just as deliberately sliding over nipple to the sword-cut just above it. "Lizzie," he half-protested, half-groaned. She leaned forward and delicately put her lips to the cut and this time, his groan was full-voice. She kissed the wound, feeling the dampness of the blood against her lip, mixed with the sweetness of the rum she had poured on it. She heard him gasp in pleasure and shivered with the power of it. _Oh, my. This is... tantalizing..._ The blood began to pound in her ears as she felt his hand go into her hair, encouraging her.

Her deliberation was making him breathless, the sheer sensuousness of it. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and what the end result could be. Fine, she'd made up her mind; so would he. There were ways of taking pleasure without actually spoiling her for a future husband. Whoever the lucky bastard might be. He pulled her head away and when he saw his own blood on her lips, he felt his groin tighten in response. He bent to kiss her, tasting the blood and rum, feeling her hands stroke down his back. Slowly, he laid her back on the bed, licking her lips clean, tasting her. Suddenly, he heard a shout from the deck and realized his cabin door was wide open. That wouldn't do. He pulled away, noting how she whimpered slightly. "Hang on, love," he told her, climbing out of bed, knowing his cock was standing out against his breeches, knowing she saw it by the way her eyes widened slightly.

He padded over to the cabin door to close it, heard another shout, _"You're a rascal and a swindler and I don't trust ye!"_ That was Gibbs' voice. Damn.

Jack looked back to Elizabeth, "Darling, as much as I hate to do this – and _believe_ me when I say I hate to do this – I need to take care of something." One slender finger jabbed at her, _"Don't move."_ He sighed, pressed a hand against his groin for a moment, then stalked out of the cabin, muttering.

Elizabeth thought she would weep from sheer frustration. _No, don't stop, don't leave. I won't know what's going to happen next. If you leave I may let sense creep back in and then I'll run out of your cabin like a sensible girl would._ Except... she wasn't feeling any real inclination to leave. He'd said his blood was up, and so was hers. Moments ago, she'd been faint from wanting him. She wanted to feel it again. And so she waited. She snatched up the rough pillow that smelled of him, inhaled it, and waited.

Jack stalked out onto the deck to see Gibbs pointing a finger into Liam's chest. "What, exactly, is going on here?" the Captain asked. The rest of the crew watched from various positions around the deck.

"Nothing, Captain," both Gibbs and Liam responded, stepping away from each other.

"Nothing. You interrupted... that is, you were yelling for nothing, you made me come out here for _nothing?_" Jack frowned. "Is there a problem between you two?"

"We were, ah, we were having an argument," Gibbs stammered. Which meant he was lying, Jack knew from previous experience.

"About?"

"Ah, it seems Mr. Gibbs was taking me to task for being disloyal, sir." Liam blushed. Another liar. Terrible at it.

Jack had the unpleasant idea that he was being deliberately detained. "I see. Well, no hard feelings and all that. Back to... whatever it is you all do, all of you. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He turned to head back to his cabin and the girl waiting within.

Gibbs leapt forward, taking hold of Jack's arm, "Jack, you should see to that wound. Cotton's real good at sewing 'em up handy-like,"

"Cotton has hands like a Tortuga butcher and the wound don't need sewing. I'm going to go have some rum and a bite to eat." Jack eyed his first mate, "Unless you have an objection. ANY of you?" he looked around at the rest of the crew who all rapidly found something else to do. Jack turned back to Gibbs. "Anything else?"

"Jack." Gibbs seemed to be at a loss for the right words. "P'raps... that is... Miss Swann..."

Jack's face darkened, realizing what was happening. He jabbed a finger into Gibbs' chest, "_Miss Swann_ is just fine. _Miss Swann_ will remain that way. _Miss Swann_ does not need yours or anyone else's protection, including – God help me – mine, being possessed of a stubborn, self-reliant streak a bloody mile wide. Ergo, you don't need to be worrying about _Miss Swann_! Do we have an accord?" His voice rose as he finished.

"Yes, Jack, it's just that..."

"Bloody hell!" Jack exploded "I'm not going to rape her, Mr. Gibbs!" Whoops. The entire crew was now staring. "And what the hell are you lot looking at?" he bellowed, while everyone suddenly found somewhere else to fix their gaze. "Mr. Gibbs, I suggest you mind your own business and tend to my ship." Jack spun on his heel and stalked back to his cabin.

Liam watched him go, then turned to Gibbs, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what to say to detain him. I don't want anything to happen to Miss..." his face flushed and Gibbs shook his head.

"Never mind, lad. I shouldn't have bothered." Cotton reached over and patted Gibbs' shoulder, shrugging. Gibbs nodded, "I should know better than to try and detain Jack from anything, let alone that particular female creature. I just hope they both know what they're doing." Gibbs sighed, worried that the girl – and Jack – were making a mistake.

As Jack walked back into his cabin, that unaccustomed feeling crept over him. Guilt. Bloody, sodding, fecking guilt. Gibbs was right. He needed to get Elizabeth out of his cabin, or find someplace else to take himself. He couldn't do it, she clearly wasn't in her right mind. Was she? He came in and shut the door. He noticed she was still on the bed and he inwardly groaned. _Damn. You didn't come to your senses and run away._

She heard Jack come in, heard him shut the door. She swallowed, wondering what he'd do next. "Lizzie," she heard him say, softly. "Get up, love."

She sat up, staring at him quizzically. He picked up his shirt and began to pull it back on. "You really shouldn't be here. Or I shouldn't be here. Or something. Damn." He was mumbling half to himself, half to her. He walked over to the bed and lightly took her arm. "Come on, love, let's get you outside for a bit while I set things to rights. I'll set out some food for us both and you can take the air. Clear your head, as it were."

He was telling her to leave. He was turning her out. He. Was turning _her_ out. Fast on the heels of disappointment came embarrassment. She'd thrown herself at him, and he didn't really want her. He'd just been full of the fight and would have taken any wench who was willing. She couldn't even speak, she didn't trust herself to. _I'm a fool. He doesn't want me, never did. I cannot bear this._

He watched the expressions roll over her face. Confusion gave way to shame, which in turn gave way to those beautiful amber eyes beginning to fill with tears. _What the hell_ She didn't say a word, but pushed past him on the way to the door. He found himself following her, "Elizabeth,"

"Stop. Let me go. I'm going out." She swatted away his hand, trying not to let him hear her breath hitch, trying not to let him see her eyes. She'd never live this down. She wanted nothing more to be back in her bed in Port Royal, never to leave her home again, never to want anything again. Never to see another damn pirate as long as she lived. She opened the door and he reached over and pushed it shut.

"Elizabeth, darlin'..."

"Let me _go,_" her voice was low with intensity, bordering on tears. And he suddenly put it together. She thought he was turning her down, thought he was declining her offer. That was a heady thought, that she could want him badly enough to be this hurt by his apparent declining. He took her arms, held her. Raised a hand to her face and tipped her chin up to look at him.

Unbearable. Ghastly. This had gone all wrong. She acted like a wanton, and she deserved this embarrassment for acting so. No well-bred lady here, just a hoyden who had thrown herself at a man who didn't want her. He was holding her, forcing her to look at him even as she tried to shake her head away. "Lizzie," she heard him almost whisper. Mutely, she shook her head in denial, struggled to free her self again. He gripped her harder, she thrashed in his grip, desperately trying to free herself, to flee this cabin and this man who had suddenly become all too important, all too dangerous, "Jack," she groaned, a single tear rolling down her cheek, "stop it, let me go."

In answer, he pushed her back against the door and lowered his mouth to hers. Gently. Tasting. Asking. He felt the tear slide down into their mouths, tasted the salt of it. _Tears for me,_ he thought, amazed. He kissed her more firmly now, beginning to lose himself in the feel of her. He paused to pull back and look at her, "I'm not turning you away because I don't want you, lass," he sighed, "I'm doing it for your own good."

She looked back at him, trying to fathom him. "My own good...?" So... this was all to save her _modesty_? Modesty that no longer existed in the eyes of a society who only saw that Elizabeth Swann had spent weeks in the company of scoundrel pirates with no other female chaperons or parental guardians? A society who assumed she'd already been despoiled on her voyage with Barbossa's crew and for whom no legal marriage – especially to a blacksmith, beneath her class – would heal the breach? "Jack. I have no modesty to save anymore."

"Not so," he began.

"Do you know what they say of me in Port Royal? Do you know what my father has had to endure? Not only was I marrying a blacksmith, but I'd probably been had by every pirate from Tortuga to Kingston. _I have no modesty to save._" It was the first time she ever had said it aloud, and the final acknowledgement felt like a death knell to her former life. And funny enough, it didn't cut too badly.

It hurt him to hear her say it. _His_ Elizabeth Swann, the one he dreamt of, was pure and beautiful and wild and blessed and he had the unreasonable, irrational urge to run his sword through everyone who'd ever said an unkind thing about her. And then there was the matter of that blacksmith. "There's still young Mr. Turner, love. There's, ah, some things one can't take back... and most grooms expect their brides to, well, have everything _there_ on their wedding night... I'd not spoil you for that."

She swallowed. "There isn't going to be a wedding."

"Come again?"

"I'm not going to marry him."

Jack suddenly needed a drink. He stumbled over to the table, sat down and began to swill rum. She followed him. "Jack, did you hear me?"

_Oh, I heard you, Lizzie,_ he thought. _I just don't believe you._ "And why would you not be marrying Will? You're spending enough bloody time on him and..."

"Jack, that's because I've known him since we were children, I've loved him for many years, he's a dear friend. I thought we should marry, but... I'm part of the reason he's gotten into all the trouble he has, from the day I first met you to this." She paced a little. "Will's a good man, a dear one. He's an honorable one. And I'm not going to marry him because I don't know whether I am any of those things anymore. And because I don't know if I want those things anymore." When Jack started to protest, she interrupted him. "I never wanted to be one of those society wives, to have tea every day and murmur false pleasantries and never have a thought of my own and never be able to just... go. To never be able to go and sail or to ride or to meet a... I never wanted that, I never wanted to marry James Norrington and be _confined_. I was always in scrapes as a girl, always running somewhere, always reading things I shouldn't and asking questions. Well. Now, I don't have to worry about a society life, I fear." Her laughter was harsh, not what he was accustomed to hearing from her, and _God_ it hurt. "And I don't want to be a blacksmith's wife either, to tend the garden and mend the clothing and, and... be the motherly type... My God, you must think I am completely unnatural." She suddenly sank down into a chair.

He was staring at her, unable to think of a word to say. What _did_ the girl want? That's what he was dying to know. "Lizzie. You were born to that life, to be sheltered and taken care of and to move in those circles. You could go to England, leave this mess behind you." _And I'd kick myself for the rest of my life if you did._

She felt as though she was choking, knew she sounded like it. "England? I never want to go to England. I'd never see the Caribbean again, never sail, never... And damn it, Jack, why are you trying to make me leave?" She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes again.

It wrung his heart to see his fine, strong girl like this. Where was her fire now? His next words would surely only quench it that much more, but he had to make her understand. "Elizabeth, you _can't be a pirate._" He spoke each word as hard and as clearly as he could. "You're a young woman, and what's more you're a fine lady. You don't have it in you to do what it takes, to sail the roughest seas and visit the roughest ports in the world. You aren't a thief or a murderer. You aren't a liar, you don't shoot and fight and swill rum. Well, mostly. You certainly are not a..." He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

"A strumpet?" she asked quietly. "A whore?" He flinched with each word, and she continued, "No, I'm not. Though you forget that I have done what's necessary on occasion, I have lied, and I've been willing to murder though I haven't exactly had to. Are you forgetting everything we've been through?"

He looked at her steadily, "I don't forget a thing, love. But you're _not like me_. Hell, you aren't even like young Johnny out there. You're a _lady_. You have a father who's likely gone balmy worrying about you, and..."

"I see." She felt cold all over. "It's alright for Anamaria, or for the other ladies you know, but not for me."

"They aren't _LADIES_," he yelled, frustrated, pushing his chair back. "Damn it, Elizabeth, see reason! What do you want? To storm in, pistols blazing? To explore the nastiest parts of the world with the most dangerous people in it? To join my bloody _crew_...?"

"Yes!" She surprised herself by screaming at him. They stared at each other, both breathing hard, both of them shaking. _"Yes,"_ she whispered. "I want adventure. I want the sea and to sail the world and to see amazing things. I want..." she stopped to look up at him.

"Yes? You want...?" he prompted, taking a step toward her. He wanted to hear it, even if nothing came of it, even it was hopeless.

She took a step toward him and they met half-way around the table. "I want..." she couldn't say it. So instead, she simply leaned toward him and kissed him. Not fiercely, but softly. Testing the waters.

When she kissed him, it was probably the sweetest kiss he'd experienced since he was a young man, years ago. No fire, no skill, just a sweet kiss with her heart on her lips. He didn't push her away, but neither did he kiss her back. She pulled away from him, biting her lower lip, blushing. He wondered if she'd try again and was absurdly gratified when she leaned back toward him.

He didn't respond, but it didn't feel like a denial to her, either. More of a waiting to see what happened next. She tipped her head again, laid another soft, soft kiss on that firm mouth. Brushed her lips across his and felt him sigh slightly. He still wasn't kissing her back. She raised her hands to his face, caressing slightly as she kissed him more firmly.

Her kisses were so sweet, so innocent. It was an interesting side of her; she'd responded passionately when they kissed previously. When she put her hands up to his face, it almost made a man want to cry. No one had touched him so gently in years. And now she was kissing him harder, growing impatient. Finally, he moved his mouth and felt her tongue teasing his lips. With a growl in his throat he threw his arms around her and began to kiss her, hungrily.

_Yes. There he is. There's my Jack._ He was devouring her mouth, moving his hands down her torso, clutching at her back. She gasped as he broke off the kiss, trying to catch her breath. He had backed her against the table and slowly, slowly began to lean her back over it, knocking aside charts and bottles and navigating tools as he did so. "Jack..." she wondered what the hell he was doing.

"What is it that you want?" He ran his tongue down the column of her throat, felt her shiver. He watched her eyes widen as he pushed her back until her feet left the floor and she was lying literally back on top of the table. He suddenly, roughly jerked her forward, against his own hardness. She gasped again, and stared up at him, wide-eyed. He wanted to hear it, wanted to hear her say it, to say what she wanted. He pulled up her legs and held them around his waist, her back still flat on the table, and hovered over her, not kissing her. She squirmed and tried to sit up, he pushed her back. Ground his hips ever so slightly against her and her breath hitched, _"Jack..."_

"What do you want?" he demanded again. Suddenly he released her legs, leaned down and scooped her up, pulling her forward so he could work at her mouth again. He felt her struggling to stand and, mouths still fused, he began to walk her backwards to the bed.

He was pushing her back now, and she knew where he was headed. And oh, her blood was as hot as it had been before they'd been interrupted. Even more so, now that she had emptied her soul to him. All but one last thing to say. She pulled away from him briefly, looking up at him, and was shaken by the intensity she saw in his dark eyes.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"I've always wanted you. Since the day we met." There. It was said, and couldn't be taken back. Nor did she want to. No matter what happened after this day, she'd never take it back and never regret it. She would never be sorry.

He gently pushed her back the last steps to the bed, her voice ringing in his ears. And it was as glorious as he'd always imagined it would be, hearing Elizabeth Swann tell him that. Knowing she meant it. He turned, sliding down onto the bed, tugging her down with him. This was not something to be hurried, both for pleasure's sake and her own. And he fully intended to take his sweet time. Damn. Better take care of something first.

When he left her in the bed again, she nearly screamed. It must have shown in her face, for he grinned, "Just a tick, darlin'." He quickly crossed the room to the cabin door and firmly locked it. Jiggled the handle furiously and tugged on the door for good measure. "Now," he growled, coming back to her and sinking into the bed. _"Now."_

She held her breath, looking at him. They both seemed afraid to move, unsure how to approach this. She knew he was holding back for her sake and it made her nearly weep. He gently, wonderingly touched her face. He slowly ran his hand down her neck, paused, and then began to tug the waistband of her shirt from her breeches. She began to tremble as his fingers brushed her belly, as he bunched the fabric in his hands and pulled up. Just before he exposed her breasts, he stopped. "Elizabeth, are you..."

"I am so completely and utterly _sure_," she groaned. _Just do it, Jack,_ she thought

That elicited a chuckle from him. He looked down into her eyes and slowly pulled the shirt higher. She kept her eyes locked on his and he felt his skin flush, telling himself to go slowly, slowly, Jack. She hesitated, then raised her arms for him and he pulled the shirt up and over, not allowing himself to look down until the damn thing was free of her head and hair and lying on the floor. And then he looked down at her. At the absolute perfection of her.

She saw his eyes flick down to her breasts, saw those eyes darken and glitter and she was quite sure she'd swoon from the desire. He didn't touch her, not yet. He leaned down and began to kiss her, his locks falling around her face, tickling and teasing. She felt the tips of his hair brushing over her neck and chest and she shivered. She'd never been naked in front of any man before, let alone like this. She was suddenly, fiercely glad that it was Jack. He pulled back, gazing down into her eyes, and then slowly brushed his hand over her breasts. She gasped, jumping a little. He didn't speak, just kept looking at her with those smoky eyes and began to softly rub a hand across one of her nipples. She shuddered, couldn't help but throw her head back.

She was so damn beautiful. He'd never seen anything like her, never been close to a woman like her. And she wanted him, out of all the men in the world. _Him._ It stunned him, left him confused, left him feeling vulnerable. The damnable thing was that he didn't even care, he just wanted to feel her, to watch her pleasure at his touch. _Sort out those head feelings later. Right now it's all about body feelings, mate._ Finally, she was here with him. And, wonder of wonders, _totally, happily, willingly._ Funny, his fantasies had never quite dared to add that part...

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the cabin door. "Captain! _Captain!_"

No. No, no, no, _nononono..._

Jack twitched, jerked awake, falling out of his bunk. Alone. No Elizabeth. He'd been dreaming again. He groaned, putting his head into his hands. The call came again, "Captain!"

"Bloody buggering _festering HELL!_ What do you _want!_" he bellowed, throwing an empty bottle of rum across the room. A damn _dream._

Gibbs' voice came through the wooden door, "You told us to let you know when we were coming in to Tortuga,"

"Yes. Alright." Jack called back, getting to his feet and pulling on his boots. Stupid dreams. Sodding useless torments they were. He glanced down at the compass at his belt, frowning at it. _And you, you thrice-cursed piece of... why aren't you working?_

Hours later, when he was preparing to come back on board, when Elizabeth Swann had miraculously shown up on the dock (_Norrington... Didn't see that _one_ coming_), when she'd taken his compass in hand and they had all boarded the _'Pearl_ for their new heading, Jack had one faint thought rattling around his brain. A thought that made him smile all the more when he caught a certain furtive look in Elizabeth's eye...

_Maybe dreams did sometimes come true..._

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Hopefully this wasn't too confusing. Heh._

_Now maybe some of you don't dream different characters' thoughts when you dream, or dream in "scenes", but I often do (I get a lot of my songs and fics from the incredibly vivid dreams I have). And I can especially see our Jack dreaming up Elizabeth's parts in such a scenario – it is a wish-fulfillment dream, after all. I'd wanted to make this into a "real" scene, but I couldn't do it without a lot of time-bending and figuring things out, and I so enjoy writing these "surrender" scenes with them that I still have ideas for a few and I didn't want to play out my hand yet. snicker Hence the dream._

_Everything being said is so obviously things that Jack wants to hear. He wants to believe he'd never hurt Liz (not that I think he wittingly would), that he is a good man, and that she wants him as much as he wants her, etc. Obviously it's a bit "romantical" (yes, my own word, heh) for Jack's thoughts; I AM writing fanfic after all. But the basic inclinations, I believe, already exist. Remember? He's vexed._

_The young boy, "Johnny" is not a reference to Mr. Depp – it's Jack dreaming of his own young self. Jack is, after all, a nickname for John... not a fair stretch to imagine that Jack was christened under that original name. I thought it was a sweet touch to add, his dream of his own exuberant self, and protecting that younger self. "Liam" is, of course, a variation of William. Easy to figure out what's plaguing Jack from all of this. Note Liam's skill, the way he tries to protect... well, you can figure it out. It's pretty transparent, I think. P'raps not my best work, but I'm relatively amused with it._

_I'm _so_ bad. Heh.  
_


End file.
